First Impressions
by Jayneysuk
Summary: I've often wondered how Boyd and Grace met. This is one idea I had. A party, and two lonely people.


-1**Title: First Impressions**

**Pairing: Grace/Boyd**

**Rating: PG**

**Spoilers: Up to and including season six is fair game**

**Feedback: Notes: When I wrote Insane Commitment I alluded to their first meeting, my mind began to wander and I wondered how these two met and became friends. This came about and is totally separate to IC, meant to be a one off but you never know. . .**

**Disclaimer: Waking The Dead belongs to the BBC, the characters aren't mind except to play with and return unharmed. **

**First Impressions**

Someone had gone to a great deal of effort to make the hotel ballroom look more chic than shabby. They'd failed miserably, Grace decided, as her eyes scanned the room, taking note of the balloons and streamers attached to the ceiling. Why she had agreed to come, she wasn't entirely sure, other than everyone and their aunt was convinced it would be good for her to get out and meet people. So far she had met the bar man, the Chief Superintendent's wife and an officer she was sure worked in narcotics. Radio Four and a good book were looking more promising every minute. Grace contemplated the distance to the door and whether she could make it. As she turned towards the stage Grace caught sight of the Chief Inspector again, heading towards her with another man trailing in his wake.

"Grace, there's someone I would like you to meet. Dr Foley, this is Detective Inspector Boyd."

"Grace, please." She held out her hand and smiled weakly.

"Peter." He shook her hand. "Dr? Medical or. . .?"

"I'm a doctor of psychology." Grace gave him a wide smile, discreetly trying to analyze him.

"She's a profiler, Boyd."

"I'm with the Home office," Grace corrected, noting that Peter liked Armani, was nursing what she was certain wasn't his first drink, and probably wanted to be there as much as she did.

Boyd still looked confused. A profiler was someone that seemed to conjure up the answers on TV dramas and none of them looked half as intelligent as the petite brunette before him.

"I need to go," the Chief Inspector announced, smiling conspiratorially and walking away.

Left alone they stared at each other, uncomfortably glancing around the room. It wasn't that Grace was a wall flower or even socially inept, it had just been a long time since she had been set up, and it was clear that was what was going on.

Boyd returned his attention to her, smiling awkwardly. Grace wasn't his type and if his so called friend thought so then he didn't know him very well. "Can I buy you a glass of wine?" he asked, finally, hating the fact that everyone seemed to think he needed a new wife to help with his career. Although he suspected that wasn't only reason he had been introduced to Dr Foley.

Grace glanced around the room, trying to find someone she knew, someone who could save her. She failed miserably. "Ok."

Boyd removed the empty glass from her hand and moved towards the bar.

She watched him go. It had been a year since her husband's death, three years since he had developed a chest infection that refused to go away. After nursing him, raising a family and watching him slip away Grace hadn't even considered moving on. She had grieved, thrown herself into work and avoided practically every social event she had been invited to. Now she found herself in a hotel reception room chatting to a guy, obviously set up by someone she thought she could trust, who looked like he might carry as much baggage as she did.

He returned a few minutes later and handed her a glass. "Are you ok?"

Grace nodded, forcing a smile. "Are you?"

"Touche."

"Can we go outside?" Grace asked, her eyes drawn to the bottle of chardonnay sticking out of his pocket.

He didn't need asking twice. He hated these functions, generally found himself making small talk with someone's wife or mistress depending on the event. Tonight seemed a little more promising. He'd found himself with someone who wouldn't spend the night telling him how hard it was to be a policeman's wife, and who didn't strike him as someone who needed her ego stroking every ten minutes.

With a hand pressed to her back, he guided her towards the French doors, nodding at the contrite smiles he received as they crossed the room.

Outside, they found themselves in the small garden, overlooking a pool, the faint sounds of music drifting out from the building.

"I brought the bottle. I thought we might need it."

"Isn't there somewhere you'd rather be?" Grace asked, settling herself on a bench and taking the bottle before placing it on the ground between them.

"Trying to get rid of me?" he asked, his tone surprising gently.

"No."

"Well there's nowhere I'd prefer to be." Sitting talking to a complete stranger was preferable to being inside and certainly more attractive than the TV and ready meal he had waiting at home.

Grace picked up the bottle and filled both their glasses to the rim. "See that's sad."

"Is that your professional opinion?"

She shook her head. "No, I just thought I was the only one lacking in a life outside of work."

"What about a husband? Getting jealous that I've stolen his wife," he teased before glancing down at the ring, his eye returning to hers and catching the pain. "I've said the wrong . . ."

"He died. A year ago." She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the emotions that still threatened to engulf her whenever she thought of him.

"I'm sorry."

She waved him off. "Why don't you tell me why you look like a fish out of water."

Boyd gave her a faint smile. "I'm generally not invited to these things."

She pursed her lips. "You've either pissed off a lot of people or you have a tendency to balk at the company line. Both of which I guess result in the same outcome."

"I don't play well with those in authority," he admitted. "I have a reputation for being an arrogant pain in the arse."

"That can get you fired," she grinned, warming to the man whose company she had tried to escape earlier.

"I'm good at what I do. I don't give up until I get a result. "

"That can get you killed."

"There are days that have almost ended in both," he admitted, candidly. "Why don't you tell me more about what you do?"

"I'd bore you in a minute." She took a sip of her wine and briefly looked away.

He leaned back against the bench, crossing one leg over the other and casually draped his arm around her shoulders. "Try me."

"I work in the secure unit at Broadmoor, mainly with troubled young men. I specialise in Behaviour therapy. It's rewarding, steady and I come home feeling like I've accomplished something, or at least most of the time. Occasionally I get to come out and play at being a forensic psychologist."

"How did you get involved with the police?"

"You mean other than the parking tickets . . .?" she laughed genuinely, her body subconsciously leaning toward him.

He shook his head. "Grace. Indulge me."

"Does that work on all the ladies?" she asked, her eyes dancing in teasing, licking her lips as she flirted shamelessly with him.

"Not so much." His fingers lightly brushed against her shoulder.

She didn't believe for a second that he was that much of a failure with women. He was too good looking and his eyes told her more than he would ever admit verbally.

"I was invited to consult on a case eighteen years a go. We got a result and I've dabbled ever since.

"Are you any good?" Boyd asked, his eyes challenging her answer.

She turned to face him. "Are you going to measure me by my success rate?"

"You dabble. I just wondered if you've ever considered full-time."

"I'm not that crazy." She rolled her eyes. "So what do you do?"

Boyd raised an eyebrow. "Changing the subject, Grace?"

"Yes, let's make it all about you." She turned on the bench to face him, giving him all her attention, wondering if she could get him to open up, knowing that if she did her first impressions were probably going to be confirmed.

Boyd glanced at his watch, noting they had been outside talking for over an hour. The sky was darkening as the clouds rolled in and there was a slight chill in the air. The rain would start soon and he didn't much feel like going back inside. "Do you really want to stay here?" he asked, watching as she closed her eyes and disappeared to some place reserved for her memories.

"My daughter convinced me this would be good for me," Grace admitted, opening her eyes and looking at him.

"And it hasn't?"

She pulled a face.

"You met me."

"Yes!"

They laughed awkwardly.

"How about we share a taxi? Anyone asks we found a quiet corner and talked for hours."

Grace picked up the bottle, shaking it before sharing the dregs between their glasses, silently debating exactly what he was proposing. Deciding, she didn't mind. "Ok."

Five minutes later they stood on the pavement, watching as the taxi rank emptied, the queue slowly dissolving until they were the next in line.

"Where to?"

She gave the driver her address, settling back in the seat as they sped off.

Grace climbed out of the taxi and turned around. "Would you like to come in?" she asked hesitantly. It was totally out of character although there hadn't been an abundances of opportunities to test her new found independence. She knew exactly what could happen and it didn't phase her.

"Ok." He handed the driver a twenty pound note and joined her on the pavement, gazing up at the run down semi.

"I apologise about the mess. I have two teenagers." She fumbled in the small purse her daughter had insisted she carry for once. "They're staying with friends."

Boyd followed her up the path, his assessment of her changing with each small divulgence. "Are you sure this is ok?"

Grace pushed open the door and turned to look at him. "You're house trained, right?"

He nodded, hoping he was reading the signals right.

"I'm guessing you're a coffee man."

"Thanks."

Grace boiled the kettle, rooting in the cupboard for her caffetiere. She paused momentarily, her good catholic upbringing casting a shadow over what was going to happen. "Are you married?"

"Not anymore." It was recent and painful and he couldn't hang on any longer. The fact she had asked the question confirmed his assumption and making small talk over coffee no longer seemed necessary.

As she turned, he took the glass caffetiere from her hands and placed it on the counter. Boyd leaned in and gently stroked her cheek. He could blame it on the alcohol or even the fact his life was a mess, but he knew in part the reason was because she was different to every other woman he had met since the end of his marriage, and certainly more three dimensional.

"Is this a good idea?"

He shrugged and kissed her, allowing her to respond before he pulled away, his lips quirking up into a smile.

"So this was your plan all along?"

"I don't always have a plan."

"I haven't done this in a while." She was probably going to sleep with a man she had known for less than four hours, one who probably carried as much emotional baggage as she did. It should have worried her but for once she was fed up of living vicariously through her kids.

"That makes two of us." He gazed into her eyes, searching for something to say stop or that she was scared. Instead he found her gazing back at him without a hint of vulnerability. The coffee, he was certain, would go discarded, as he kissed her again and felt her fingernails working their way up his back.

It would have seemed completely crazy if she had been capable of coherent thought but as it was she was trying to remember how to do this, how to lead a man up to her bedroom without them both landing in a drunken heap at the bottom of the stairs.

"The sofa's closer," he mumbled against her skin as he kissed his way along the curve of her jaw.

"The bed's more comfortable."

"Ok." He stopped, hovering over the small in her throat. When she didn't move he kissed the soft hollow.

"This isn't working."

Reluctantly he stopped kissing her and took a step back, one hand firmly holding onto her waist.

Grace fumbled for his hand, finally interlacing his fingers with her own. "It'll be easier if you just follow me upstairs, and we can resume this. . ."

Smiling smugly, he kissed her lips and logical reasoning went out of the window. It had been a long time since she had been kissed like that, even longer since sex had even been a consideration. However it turned out she intended not to think about it, allow herself to let go.

Boyd stepped back and she opened her eyes to find him staring back at her.

"Lead the way."

Grace gave him a small tentative smile. "You can still . . ."

Playfully, he slipped his hand down over her backside and pulled her against him, his eyes daring her to ask again.

Gripping his hand, she walked towards the stairs.

"I made coffee," Grace announced, leaning back against the counter top, freshly showered and fully dressed.

"Thanks." Boyd ran a hand through his hair, trying to restore order to the unruly mess.

"Can I get you something to eat?" She watched him over the top of her mug as he added a drop of milk and two sugars.

He shook his head. "I'm fine." He was more than fine and for some inexplicable reason he couldn't stop smiling to himself.

"It's really no trouble." Grace hesitated. "Look, I don't know what to do in these circumstances."

Boyd dropped into a chair. "You really haven't done this in a while."

"Should I take that as a compliment that my inexperience doesn't show?"

He smiled wryly. "I'm not complaining." The sex in reality had been ok, typical of the drunken fumbles of his university days without the concerns. The earth hadn't moved but he hadn't felt the urge to run screaming from her bed at two am.

"But?"

"Why does there have to be a but?"

"You strike me as the type of man where there is always a but." Grace opened the refrigerator and took out eggs and mushrooms. "I'm going to make an omelette."

"Ok." He sipped his coffee as he watched her fix breakfast. "What made you bring me home?"

"Why did I pick you when they're beating a path to my door?" Keeping her back to him, she tried to hide her awkwardness.

"Grace."

"I don't know. It felt like the right thing to do." It was a question she had asked herself as she listened to him snore in the early hours. "I'm not someone who wallows in regrets."

Boyd glanced down at his hands.

"I'm not regretting it."

"Neither am I."

"It's not going to happen again though, is it?" Grace turned to look at him. "It's ok. Neither of us are ready for anything more."

"Another time, another place. . ."

"Boyd, when you're ready to date, give me a call and let me help you avoid phrases like another time, another place."

He smiled a genuine smile. "What if I want to call you before that?"

"Going to recruit me, Boyd, for your new unit?"

"Maybe. Do you think you could handle working for me?"

Her lips quirked up into a grin. "Yeah, but I'm not sure the rest of the team could handle it."

"What about dinner?"

"Sure. But between the kids, work and my thesis, I might not always be able to say yes."

"If you tell me you're washing your hair I'll know you're fobbing me off. I'm not that out of practice."

"I wash my hair in the shower in the morning," Grace said softly. It was a random thing to share, something about herself that no-one needed to know, yet here she was telling a practical stranger.

"Now that's an image." He took the proffered plate and began to eat heartily. "So can I have your number?"

Grace rolled her eyes. "I'll find a pen. You don't look like someone who could program it into a PDA."

"What's a PDA?"

She laughed genuinely. "I should thank you."

"Was it that good?" Boyd asked, an eyebrow rising in question.

"I meant for not treating me like china. It's been a long time since I've not been handled with kid gloves."

Peter pushed his plate away and rose to his feet. "You didn't strike me as someone who needed handling, Grace. I should go."

Grace handed him the small rectangular piece of paper. "I put my work number on there too."

"So you think I need therapy?" he asked, a smile daring her to answer in the affirmative.

"I don't make snap assumptions."

"I could try and say something funny, but . . ." Boyd moved around the table and hovered above her. After a few seconds of them saying nothing he lightly rested his hand on her arm and leaned down.

Grace tilted her head and her eyelids flickered shut as he kissed her gently on the lips. When she opened them again he was smiling down at her. "What?"

"Something tells me . . ." He shook his head, grinning.

"Boyd!"

"I'm going to need more than therapy by the time you've finished with me."

**The End**


End file.
